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the many books she’d acquired on the subject of pregnancy and childbirth.
    As the pregnancy unfolded, their families, knowingly or unknowingly, participated in the fiction of the two women as housemates. Amy’s mother, Kathy, was very impressed with Linsey’s devotion to her pregnant daughter. ‘Linsey’s so good to her,’ she said to Linsey’s mother. ‘I don’t know what she would have done without her.’
    ‘I don’t believe it’s such a great burden,’ the other woman replied drily, watching her daughter pour the coffee.
    ‘Still, I wish she’d tell us who the father is.’ Kathy was mortified at the thought of her daughter as an unmarried mother, let alone the issue of a one-night 35 stand. She still had faint hopes of a wedding.
    ‘I doubt that will happen,’ Meredith Brookes replied. ‘I doubt that very much indeed.’
    Amy gave birth to an eight-pound baby girl with huge, fathomless eyes and a thatch of dark hair that stood straight up, giving her a look of mild shock.
    ‘Funny little thing. She looks surprised by the world,’ Linsey said as she held her daughter close. ‘Amy, I love you both so much.’
    ‘Me too,’ murmured a sleepy Amy.
    If the pregnancy had been a time of happiness for Linsey, the birth was a time of such fierce and overwhelming joy that she could scarcely breathe for the wonder of it. She vowed that this child would be loved and cared for, that she would have the best education, the best start in life of any child who had ever lived. She plunged into motherhood with an intense, controlling passion. Her emotional extravagance was all the more tragic in that she had no natural facility with children and didn’t understand how to translate her love into language that a child could understand. By contrast, while Linsey devoured books on childcare, Amy’s love flowed with her milk and she sang little nonsense songs and played with her baby’s toes.
    Linsey was godmother when Miranda Ophelia was christened in the cream brick Uniting church where her birth mother had gone to Sunday school. Amy’s single status was met with some disapproval by the congregation. She always was a bit flighty , they sniffed as they sipped their tea. She’s lucky to have found such a fine person to be godmother. Kathy had broadcast Linsey’s merit throughout the parish, innocently placing her where a father might more usually be found.
    Linsey’s family were puzzled by the thought of a christening. Her brother, Robert, was happy to go along without question, but Felicity couldn’t resist. ‘You’re not even a Christian, Lins,’ she said. ‘What’s this all about?’
    But Linsey knew exactly what she was about. Amy, as birth mother, had a legitimate title, a legitimate claim for recognition as the baby’s mother. ‘Being godmother gives me some small public connection with Miranda,’ Linsey said simply.
    Felicity put an arm around her sister’s thin shoulders. ‘You know best, Lins.’

    When Moss awoke, the kitchen was still dark, but, try as she might, she couldn’t go back to sleep. The air mattress had deflated and her hipbone was uncomfortably sharp against the floor. She turned onto her back. She plumped the pillow. She listened to the rain drumming on the roof. Finally, she sat up and clasped her knees, wondering what Linsey would say if she knew where she was.
    Her earliest memory was of a day at the beach. She must have been three or four. Her mothers were each holding a hand and swinging her over the waves. She was giggling and squealing until her hand slipped from Amy’s grasp and suddenly she was choking on a mouthful of water. Linsey was scooping her up and Moss felt the fear that rippled along the encircling arms. Coughing up the last of the water, she squirmed to escape.
    ‘Mummy Amy,’ she called. ‘Mummy Amy.’
    Linsey released her abruptly. ‘Here. You take her,’ she said, pushing the child into Amy’s arms. ‘And for God’s sake, try to be a bit more